bang bang bang

am i the wolf or the savior?
is my smile too sharp or just my teeth?

Oh, because the butcher is hopeless, the flush does remain. And he’s absolutely silent the entire time that he’s looked at so intensely, feeling the soft pieces of cut hair as they fall onto his shoulders, refraining from itching or trying to brush it off. As Danta speaks again, his honey gaze finds the Maverick’s amusement reflective in the soft twist of the corner of his mouth. “Would you have set up your salon beside the tailor?” He muses, his eyes softening even as his cheeks and ears remain flaming.

He puffs out a little sound (blowing a cut piece that has fallen nearer to his nose away from his face as he waits for Danta’s hands to be out of piercing distance when he lets go of his glamour. The horns unfurl, spiking through trimmed ink until they’ve fully returned, twisting his trimmed hair in varying ways. “Well, how have you done, darling?” He asks a little breathlessly, masking it with a thrum of playfulness as he continues to stare at his sunshine lover’s handsome face for the reaction.

Astaroth

come a little closer

idealism sits in prison
chivalry fell on his sword

"Oh, that would be a very wise business move, I think." Danta grins. And if it meant that Asta found excuses to come and see him between his visits to the tailor, well, that's just a happy coincidence. He sits back enough to be safe as the other man drops his glamour, watching the glimmering tines of his horns reappear and immediately reaching out to arrange his hair around them in the way he's seen Asta do a hundred times. Then, and only then, is he satisfied with his work.

"Well, I think you look glorious," he informs him with a crooked smile, letting fire spark at his fingertips so he can brush and burn away the hair likely to itch across Asta's shoulders. "But you can tell me yourself." So saying, he shifts out of the way so he can continue to clean the butcher up and give Asta a chance to see his own reflection. "And if you hate it, remember that hair grows, okay? Also remember you're capable of lying, so just tell me you like it anyway."

Dantalion

I slithered here from Eden
just to sit outside your door

am i the wolf or the savior?
is my smile too sharp or just my teeth?

“A perfect space for a makeover, wouldn’t you say?” Astaroth hums, before his nose is wrinkling with the scent of burnt hair — not that he minds, it’s better that than the alternative of sharp, poky pieces of hair stabbing him anytime he moves. He remains, watching contently as he arranges his hair in a familiar motion, one he doesn’t even feel the need to repeat with the perfection of how the Maverick had done it.

When Danta steps away, the butcher blinks and straightens, focusing on himself in the reflection of the large mirror as he’s still fussed over for getting the hair off of his shoulders and skin. Immediately, the smile blooms on his face, leaning forward in the chair with genuine delight to see the feathered portions so neatly set. “However would you believe me then if you wish for me to lie if I did not like it?” He hums thoughtfully, twisting his horned head this way and that, running his fingers deftly through it to push it back and into the same position Danta had left it in.

“I adore it, for what it is worth. It also has the benefit of you no longer falling asleep on it and entrapping me.” A brow lifts as the sass leaves him, giving hardly any time to let Danta retort before he stands and immediately reaches for his sun, pulling him in for a kiss of gratitude. “Thank you, darling. It is perfect.”

Astaroth

come a little closer

idealism sits in prison
chivalry fell on his sword

"I would say, yes," Danta agrees. "If ever I get bored of this, then, or someone overthrows me, I already have my new career sorted." Perhaps he'll even offer piercings on the side, though that's more for fun, let's be honest. Still, as Asta has the chance to look at himself and the Maverick finishes cleaning him up, it's with one last brush of fiery hands across his shoulders and back that he straightens up, watching for his reaction.

"Your words are pretty, but I'd see the lie in your face, Asta. We've already had this discussion." Grinning, he links his arms gently behind his back, relaxing unconsciously as it appears the butcher does approve of the job he'd done. "I will just have to think of new ways to entrap you, then," he laments, his smile softening into something warmer as he leans up for the kiss Asta offers.

"My pleasure," he purrs, before fidgeting a little and glancing towards the door. "I'll go find Moira, then...?"

Dantalion

I slithered here from Eden
just to sit outside your door

am i the wolf or the savior?
is my smile too sharp or just my teeth?

“I would personally love to see someone try to overthrow you.” Because not only would it be a shock for them all, the butcher would be right there despite not being a part of the government, hopefully with the leash dropped to release all of his fury. “You will have to be bored first.” He winks as he twists to wind his arms around his lover, snatching that kiss.

He pulls away and offers a roll of his eyes with some dramatic exasperation, hands spreading warmth along his shoulders. “Best get creative, darling.” He drawls instead, remaining relaxed even as Danta starts to withdraw. He lets him go, a small smile lingering on his face even as he notices the fidgeting. “Yes. I shall prepare as well.” Reaching up to stroke his cheek, the butcher withdraws with a smile that is all of his confidence, truthful and manufactured, mentally preparing until the second that the Maverick returns.

Astaroth

come a little closer

idealism sits in prison
chivalry fell on his sword

"As would I," Danta admits with a grin. "Though I get bored fairly easily, so let's hope it doesn't come to that, either." That being quitting his leadership role for the sake of becoming a stylist; he's worked rather hard at theocrating over the past couple of years, and it would be a shame to put it all to waste. Luckily, getting creative is something he's ready and willing to do, and the mischief that lights up in his eyes says as much even as he steps back from Asta.

"Okay. I'll see you soon," he tells him, offering his shoulder a gentle squeeze before he brushes past to slip out of the room. It still doesn't count as leaving properly, in Danta's opinion, since he's just heading down to his office, and he does stop by to ask for some food and wine to be sent up to their room at the same time. Still, Asta will be aware of his imminent return not only by the creak of the stairs as he climbs them, but of the low timbre of his voice as he speaks to his companion.

Appearing in the doorway with Moira as a ball of ruffled, sleepy black feathers perched on his shoulder and tucked against the crook of his neck, Danta is still careful to shield her with one hand as if to reassure Asta that she won't go flying without warning. "Is this okay?"

Dantalion

I slithered here from Eden
just to sit outside your door

am i the wolf or the savior?
is my smile too sharp or just my teeth?

Humming a note that agrees they’ll see each other soon, the butcher watches his lover depart before he finishes his preparations. Mostly, snagging a sweater that may or may not be Danta’s and too small length wise and a pair of pajama pants that are slipped on, the butcher’s outside of the den with a little bag in hand as he hears their return.

While Danta does try to hide the companion as much as he can, Asta can see the puff of feathers, the tail that extends past where his lovers hand can blot out, and he finds himself surprisingly okay. Or maybe, not so surprising, because for all he knows she could practically be a statue right now with the way she hasn’t croaked or moved or flown.

All good things in his book. “Yes.” He announces, softly. “Do you think… hm, she would not be opposed to snacks, would she?” He suggests, stepping a bit closer because the door is right there and you bet the butcher intends on settling down on the floor right beside it. He snags a blanket as he approaches, but keeps a wide berth between his lover and his companion and himself, eyes never leaving the corvid while he tries to control his heart from thundering and the panic from gripping his heart.

Astaroth

come a little closer

idealism sits in prison
chivalry fell on his sword

"That's good," Danta murmurs with a tentative smile, having been expecting anything from this all the way to Asta burying himself in their den as a fyrhund. So far so good, though, and as they inch around each other into the room - leaving the butcher at the door and he and his companion at the opposite wall - the Maverick slowly lets his hand drop. "I imagine she wouldn't be opposed once she's woken up a little more."

Smirking and tickling at the downy feathers beneath Moira's beak, the corvid turns to nibble and groom at his finger, perfectly content to be settled down on the ground amid one of Danta's discarded shirts. The Maverick, in the meantime, rolls his shoulders and glances back to the other man. "Thanks again, for this. Just leave whenever you need to, if it gets too much."

Then, before he can change his mind, Danta is slipping into his own shift, exchanging fair hair and pale skin for glossy black feathers, the gore crow appearing rather innocuously beside his smaller counterpart, not that Moira notices or cares that her bonded is larger than she is. (She's a bully to him, Danta would say if he were able).

Dantalion

I slithered here from Eden
just to sit outside your door

am i the wolf or the savior?
is my smile too sharp or just my teeth?

It is good, even as his eyes remain glued to the feathered companion, keeping that berth as they make the wide pass toward where the butcher can stand beside the door, an out made just in case it becomes too much. “Alright.” He says, without any pomp or formalities, without any pleasantries. It takes all of his focus, watching as she grooms his lover’s finger before she’s lowered down into a discarded shirt.

“Of course.” Asta remains standing, of course, for a little while at least. It’s easier to offer that boon to his rising heartbeat, but without the dread that will inevitably claw at him. Because while Moira did still frighten and bring anxiety, it was nothing compared to Danta’s shift. This is when that cold dread starts to grab, sinking its claws into his stomach as he grips the edge of the blanket and the bag a little bit tighter.

He reminds himself before his mind gets too carried away that while yes, these were the very beasts that made his skin crawl, that made the pain of those days flash to the forefront of his mind, that the gore crow at least loved him, and by extension, his companion. It’s that reminder that has him still there, tail flicking at his heels in awkward motions that betray his anxieties before he takes a long, slow and deep breath, and steps back against the wall to slide down it until he can sit.

Astaroth

come a little closer

idealism sits in prison
chivalry fell on his sword

Every part of Danta wants to turn and look at Asta, wants to go to him to make sure he's alright, but of course all of that is exactly the problem with his current appearance. And so while it might seem callous, the Maverick thinks it's for the best if he ignore the butcher entirely, at least for now; he's aware of him only vaguely out of the corner of his eye as he presses back against the wall and slides down to sit. Luckily, being in this shape proves distracting all on its own after the initial shift, and the gore crow suddenly puffs up all of his feathers and shakes them out again.

Spending a few moments preening pinions and flight feathers to get them sit right, it's with a brief settling of his wings that he turns to inspect Moira, the sleepy crow allowing his curved beak to nibble at the downy ruff along her chest before she's hopping away. Snacks, she was told, and so while Danta busies himself preening enjoying his more avian instincts, Moira waits expectantly for Asta to give up the goods.

Dantalion

I slithered here from Eden
just to sit outside your door

am i the wolf or the savior?
is my smile too sharp or just my teeth?

It is absolutely for the best that Danta pretend as if the butcher doesn’t exist. Because those few days he’d spent amongst the burning, hard ground of the Climb, he seemed to be the only focus for the gore crows. Food had been what he was, and the second that the word had spread across the intelligent corvids, well, the butcher had become the dinner and the table to talk around.

So the less attention he receives, the better, and it allows him to compartmentalize as he watches Moira continue to seemingly doze off and on, and his lover wearing the most nightmarish shift for him does nothing more than preen his feathers. He’d find it amusing, if it weren’t for the way he continues to follow the specific breathing pattern he’s learned. And he finds himself wondering, for a split second before his stress tells him hey what the fuck, what exactly Danta’s feathers felt like when they weren’t felt in passing.

His focus sharpens almost immediately upon Moira, though, because Danta continues to keep his distance and the sleepy companion makes her hopping approach. Each one sends sharp, icy tendrils of dread to spark, but Astaroth continues to chime his mantra internally, continues to breathe slowly as he focuses intensely on her. He’d offered snacks and she knows it. Only this time he isn’t drunk like before to make the sensation easier to ignore.

Still, he does it. He shifts his legs up underneath him, tail coiled tightly around him and the blanket settled comfortably both around his shoulders and draping over his chest to pool into his lap as he pulls out the bag of mixed nuts, snagging one. His thumb rubs over the surface for a few moments as he takes some steadying breaths, before he tosses it toward her – his dark gaze flicking up to Danta for only a moment before returning to the companion.

Astaroth

come a little closer

idealism sits in prison
chivalry fell on his sword

For his part, Danta has already let himself lean into his shift enough that he's busy nosing around in the discarded shirt he'd settled Moira into initially, briefly getting stuck in the sleeve before managing to shake it off. With his feathers thoroughly ruffled at the audacity of the garment, he waddles struts off further into the room to find somewhere to perch. Eventually settling on his dressmaker's mannequin, he opts to hop up and onto the shoulder of it (where his coat is currently hanging, coincidentally) rather than fly.

As for Moira, she knows better than to approach Asta beyond a certain point, and her beady little eyes are focused on the peanut in his hand rather than the Ancient holding onto it. As he throws it and it skitters wide of her, she hops after it with her wings tucked neatly behind her, pecking at it once she's close enough only to send it shooting off again across the smooth floor. And thus Moira's game of chase-the-peanut begins.

Watching her with as close to a furrowed brow as a gore crow can ever achieve, Danta glances only fleetingly towards Asta before turning away again, as if to ask how he's doing.

Dantalion

I slithered here from Eden
just to sit outside your door

am i the wolf or the savior?
is my smile too sharp or just my teeth?

If he wasn’t so focused on the true crow approaching, the butcher might have noticed the way Danta’s gotten trapped into the sleeve. He might have even seen the flit of frustration because of it and never let the Maverick live it down. As it stands, though, he misses it completely as he tries to keep his brain power focused on one thing at a time. Regulate his breathing. Ignore his rising heartbeat. Keep the nausea at bay (much easier this time around).

He does look over periodically toward Danta as he moves around the room, though, and only when he’s settled on the mannequin (he reminds himself to thank the gore crow later when his mouth isn’t so dry), does he look back to Moira to toss the peanut. He fully expects her to eat it and when she doesn’t, instead deciding to shoot it across the room and chase after it, the butcher relaxes a fraction. Some warmth comes back into the paleness of his face, and he draws his legs up a little closer as he tosses another one out for her to have two options before he sinks back to watch – content, so long as none are near him.

It's coincidentally this time that he looks over at Danta again, catching that fleeting look. He loves you. He reminds himself when he captures the gaze for a split second. “I’m okay.” Comes the far more Ferrox accent than Astaroth, but it’s true nevertheless. The butcher has ensured he’s remained precisely where he can keep vision on everything around him, testing with two creatures he knows wouldn’t harm a hair on his head. And it does wonders to loosening the ice in his gut.

Astaroth

come a little closer

idealism sits in prison
chivalry fell on his sword

Shifting his wings a bit to get more comfortable on the shoulder of the mannequin, the sound of the butcher's reassurance is enough to earn a brief clack of Danta's beak, before he returns to fussing over his feathers as if it's a full time job. (It is, in fact, and it's been a long time since he could enjoy putting them all in order like this, such that a few black pinions end up scattering down around the mannequin as he goes about his work).

It makes him a stationary subject in the room, which is likely for the best given that Moira is charging after her peanut like it's something alive, managing to catch it just in time for Asta to throw another. Hopping across the room to it as though she's afraid Danta will take umbridge and grab it first (he could not care less), eventually she manages to snag that one too, waggling her tail feathers victoriously.

It goes like that for as long as Asta cares to toss more snacks her way, and if the butcher cares to glance at Danta, he'll spot that he's tucked his head beneath his wing for a very quick snooze.

Dantalion

I slithered here from Eden
just to sit outside your door